


Finding Home

by Jaskiers_BrokenLute



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jaskier | Dandelion Has ADHD, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Modern Era, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Sad Jaskier | Dandelion, Slow Burn, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27167509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaskiers_BrokenLute/pseuds/Jaskiers_BrokenLute
Summary: Jaskier had imagined living on his own ever since he could comprehend that he wasn't truly stuck here forever. Even if he did feel here than an occupant of the house, he wasn't locked up forever.Often time that fact was the only thing that kept him going, when things got bad and he wished he could fall asleep and never have to wake up his life again, he remembered that in just a few years he could leave, pack his stuff and walk away, never looking back.He wouldn't have to see this room, this house, his school or any of the assholes that go there, and the cherry on top, he'd never have to see his father again.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Others to be added
Comments: 7
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please pay attention to the tags, there's nothing super graphic but there is a heavy focus on child abuse in the first few chapters, so please turn around now if you need to :)  
> (I am in no way trying to romanticize any of the hard themes in this story, and if any of it comes off as offensive or hurtful in any way know that it was not my intention and it will be remedied or deleted if need be)

Jaskier had imagined living on his own ever since he could comprehend that he wasn't truly stuck here forever. Even if he did feel here than an occupant of the house, he wasn't locked up forever. 

Often time that fact was the only thing that kept him going, when things got bad and he wished he could fall asleep and never have to wake up his life again, he remembered that in just a few years he could leave, pack his stuff and walk away, never looking back. 

He wouldn't have to see this room, this house, his school or any of the assholes that go there, and the cherry on top, he'd never have to see his father again. 

At sixteen he got a job at one of the local shops, his father had wanted him to intern at his office so he could take up his mantle when his father was CEO.  
He'd rather break all his limbs than have to see his father any more during the day than he already does. He already disappoints him enough just being himself under the same roof as him, Jaskier can only imagine how much more room for error there would be if he worked with him too. 

It wouldn't be hard to disappoint him either, nothing Jaskier did was ever good enough. It seemed he didn't need a reason to hit him anymore, just existing was reason enough.  
Afterwards, when he was sniffling and holding a bag of frozen veggies to his cheek, his father would fix him with a look and say: 'You should be grateful, a gentle hand guiding you through life won't make anything of you. I'm giving you more of a chance in the real world than any parent is willing to,' and with one more swat to the back of his head, he'd leave. 

When Jaskier was younger he used to believe that horse shit, that his father was being kind by back-handing him when he got a C on a math test in fifth grade. Because he certainly tried harder after that, and if it helped his grades in the end it must have been a good thing.  
He'd even told Jaskier he was proud when his next test came home with an A and a 'great improvement' sticker on the corner.  
That was the last time he'd ever used that word, and Jaskier felt sick for how deprived it made him. 

It made school miserable. He used to enjoy going until his father tried to set him straight and he'd realized that actually giving all his attention to the class was torture.  
He felt like a marionette puppet, strings tearing for his attention in all different directions, ever child talking and the tapping of a pen, a song he'd heard last week, what he forgot he had in the top drawer of his desk at home, all without even noticing he'd zoned out in the first place. Berating himself and staying after class to catch up on the lessons he'd missed, lost in his own mind. He lost all the friends he had that year and forgot to get them back. 

He'd tried to explain how hard it was to concentrate to his father, that he was trying so, hard to listen to his teachers, but sometimes he just couldn't. All he got was called stupid and shut in his room without dinner. 

When he was fifteen, and seeing the school councillor without his father's knowledge, he'd been diagnosed with ADHD and for the first time realized he wasn't stupid. 

He wasn't allowed to take the medication the therapist had suggested for him, his father was convinced there was nothing wrong with him, and even if there was it could be fixed with a firm hand and a little trying harder on Jaskier's end.  
So yeah, school was hell, and on top of that he was no longer able to see the councillor, she'd apparently been poisoning his mind, filling it with ideas and loopholes to get out of hard work, making a pussy out of him, as his father so kindly put it. 

She was the only person he could ever clearly remember that had been nice to him, understood. That day he was forbade from kindness. 

The closest he got to a break from his life was his shift at work. His co-workers, mostly classmates or students from other schools in the area who needed a first-time job, hated it.  
They'd blabber on and on about all the other places they'd rather be, complained for hours about the work they had to do, all while Jaskier wondered how it must feel to be eager to go home.  
He was early to work almost every day, picked up as many extra shifts as he legally could. 

The routine of it was partly why he loved it so much, he started each morning shift by taking inventory, unpacked any orders that had come in the day before, stocked shelves, helped upfront with customer service if they were short-staffed, took inventory again before changing out of his uniform and beginning the walk home.  
Most people wouldn't call that fun, but it was an escape, he barely even had to think most days as he let the familiarity of it take over, and he was making decent money. 

Granted it was minimum wage, £8.72 an hour for six hours a day, he'd opted out of the 48 hour limit per week and worked usually 4 or 5 days if he could, and if he kept the job like he planned to, from 16 to 18 years old, he'd have enough to get out of here properly, never have to come crawling back. 

His father made him put 50% of every paycheck into a savings account, one of his few good ideas, even so, he kept the other 50% in a rucksack, hidden in the back of his closet.  
It's not the safest or smartest way to save money, but he had no doubt in his mind that the second his father realizes he's gone his bank card will be cancelled or the money will have been drained. 

Even so, he knows his father funnels out money from his account every month, not much, enough that he wouldn't notice it if he hadn't been counting. The man doesn't need it, makes it very well known that he has a well-paying job, but he'd probably pass out if he didn't get his top-up of being a dick. 

He didn't care, he could keep all of it, the swine, as long as Jaskier has his real savings his father can get off stealing from his child all he wishes. 

Ever since he could remember he'd been fantasizing about running away, but every time he was just about ready to do it, pent up frustration guiding him, he knew that as a minor the police would be called within the hour.  
Jaskier feared he wouldn't survive the punishment if he was brought him in the back of a cop car, his father feigning hurt and embarrassment as he brought his belt down upon Jaskier's back.  
So he waited.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Just another month, he told himself, one more month and I'm free."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to say that I am perfectly aware that this is not how British school systems work, but for the purposes of this story, we can pretend that graduation and valedictorian IS actually a thing and that it happens later than 16.

His eighteenth came slower than the end of a school day after you get an hour of sleep and have no idea how to do the work in front of you.   
Slower than the next season of your favourite show on the BBC.

And yet, despite time flowing like molasses, his birthday was just around the corner. 

But he's got graduation to worry about first.   
If it were up to him he'd skip the ceremony altogether and collect his diploma in the front office, leaving that thrice damnded prison behind forever.   
Except, like most things in his life, it's not up to him. It's up to his father. So he has to go, in the most over-kill, over-priced suits he's ever owned. Putting it on felt like getting ready to run for prime minister, not spend three hours sitting on a stage while his classmates sweat vodka with their parents recording from the fifth row. 

He'd liked a displayed grey suit, that would look absolutely gorgeous with a pale pink button-down matched with it. His father quickly pointed out he'd look like a 'fucking queer' wearing it thought, which was unacceptable.   
Imagine his father's absolute shock if he ever found out that he was a fucking queer. Bisexual to be exact, but queer none the less. 

He's not ashamed of his sexuality or how he would express it were he able to act or dress the way he wants to, but he's got enough to deal with already, he doesn't need to add homophobia to the list.   
Besides, he's accepted himself already, knows he won't be accepted by anyone around him, and there's no mandate on coming out. For the time being, he'll act like a straight cut man, the kind that wears their pants under their arse and unironically call women 'females'. He shuddered just thinking about it. 

With a sigh and one last moment of mourning for how lovely he'd have looked in the grey and pink number, he looked himself over once more, twisting around to see the different angles, admiring the way the suit fit and hugged his frame.   
He looked good, but it still felt wrong to dress so nice for an event you don't want to be attending in the first place. It felt even sillier to buy a bespoke suit from the same place your father does for his corporate job and business parties, for high school graduation where he'll be wearing a gown half the night anyway.   
It's just plain stupid that the suit, fitting and tailoring fees should have to come out of his own savings when he doesn't even want the thing. 

"Are you nearly finished Julian?" His father shouted impatiently from outside the fitting room, impatience clear in his voice despite having known exactly how long the appointment would last, having gone through it enough himself. 

"Yes," He called back, flattening his hands down the front of the suit jacket, stepping off the pedestal he'd been on during the actual fitting. 

A faint 'it's about time' rang from outside the door as he unlocked it. He rolled his eyes and stepped back onto the pedestal to show his father the nearly finished custom suit. 

"It's good quality," Jaskier said enthusiastically, giving a quick 360 turn, showing off the fine tailoring. 

"Yes, the fit shows how skinny you've gotten," He remarked, squeezing Jaskier's upper arm to emphasize his point. 

Jaskier held his tongue as not to mention that he wasn't the one withholding meals from himself for years, the argument not worth it when his father could round anything into anyone else's fault but his own, usually Jaskier's. 

"Change, we'll take it." 

He nodded and started pulling the blazer off, careful of the few pins still stuck in it where it was yet to be sewed down to his exact measurements.   
His father gave him a short up and down look after his shirt had been removed, shaking his head in blatant disapproval before finally leaving him alone to finish changing.   
As if he hadn't felt insecure enough already, having a measuring tape ran up and down, across, and around his body while his father watched on with a disgusted sneer on his face. 

As quickly as they came he shut those thoughts out, his father would love to hear him spiral about his physique after he'd planted the hatred into his mind. Jaskier would rather strip naked, confidentially in front of the entire town than give his father the satisfaction of hating himself. 

Carefully folding the clothes and placing them where the tailer had told him to put them, he dressed back in his own slim fit jeans and as bright as he was permitted to own, jumper and stepped out of the fitting room. 

"I've already paid him, not many students your age mature enough to buy their own quality suit. It's because of me you're able to Julian, the real world won't buy you things just for getting a passing grade," He muttered, patting Jaskier's back in a way that may appear parental to the outside world who were unaware of the fresh bruise just under his shoulder blade. 

A new one gained when he'd fallen and caught the edge of the table on his way down, and by fallen he means was shoved by the very hand now pressing into the bruise, because god forbid he have an online presence where he goes by a different name and speaks to 'strangers'. It's hardly his fault that hearing Julian sends a feeling of dread through his entire being, no good memories connected to the name that he can recall. 

"Thank you," The hit to the yellowing skin had been a warning, a -you better be grateful- sort of warning. 

The irony is blinding. 

"Who got valedictorian?" He asked, voice tight once they were both buckled into the car and staring through the windshield to avoid their other. 

Jaskier sighed, having been dreading this conversation since valedictorian had been announced. His father had boasted about him getting valedictorian in every graduation he'd been part of, as if it were the medal of honour, expecting Jaksier to be his exact carbon copy in the world of academy accomplishments. 

He did get it, has been top of his class since he was ten, but turned it down as one last act of resistance, and a bit of spite before he disappeared. His only regret so far has been knowing no one else in the class could write a speech like he could.

"Pavetta Riannon," 

It wasn't a lie, she was the runner up, a bright girl, sweet, but the sort of girl who equated disobedience with freedom and ended up with a group of mean girls and an even meaner gaggle of boys after her. 

He didn't get a response, his father simply sneered into the rearview mirror and pressed the gas a little faster than Jaskier deemed safe. He silently prayed they'd be in a small fender bender that his father wouldn't survive. It was preferable to what's inevitable once they get home. At least with graduation so soon he knows he won't have to protect his face this time, once he'd broken a finger doing just that, it was awful. 

He fell onto his bed, exhausted and sore, his torso burning and lungs fighting for air, he was 80% sure one of his ribs was bruised this time, eyes burning with unshed tears.   
He hasn't cried after a punishment since before he was in his teens, only ever now when the pain got too harsh and stinging to ignore, never from anything other than physical reactions.   
he felt was thought life had beat the ability to properly cry or react at all to his mental state out of him. Sometimes he barely even felt like a person anymore. 

That's a problem for another day, right now he's in too much pain to bother with thinking of anything else, his side certainly becoming a map of deep bruises where he'd been repeatedly kicked. 

His father never kicked him before, it was usually blows with his hands or whatever was in his immediate vicinity, usually, it felt as though it was heat of the moment reactions like he never planned to hurt him, which is utter bull shit. But this was deliberate, a proper beating. 

The whole valedictorian thing didn't seem all that important at the time, but apparently, he'd been very wrong. He'd be feeling this for days, and sudden;y not even the spite felt worth it. 

He rolled over onto his side, his breath hitching in pain immediately.   
Right, back it is for the foreseeable future then. Sleeping would certainly be an uncomfortable affair, even more so than usual. Waking up certainty wouldn't be fun either, he could hardly imagine being verticle at the moment, let alone walking anywhere. 

Hopefully, his father's feeling generous enough to drive him to work tomorrow, the shop a few streets away, which he usually enjoyed walking in the mornings, but now he felt he'd collapse if he even tried. 

Alfred Pancratz does have a thing about punctuality and anything to do with being a 'gentleman' so maybe if Jaskier showed fear of being late he'd gain himself a ride. 

Plan set for a very ache-y Saturday, he let his mind wander and tried for sleep, dreading his alarm and the stiffness in his muscles that would follow, but more than ready for the escape of unconsciousness.   
Just another month, he told himself, one more month and I'm free.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this was just the chapter to set up the story, our other characters will be here soon and if you liked it please let me know, this is my first modern au in this fandom. Stay tuned for more suffering


End file.
